The most modern definition of the word Nostalgia is 'wistful yearning for the past'. I never yearned for my past but it keeps on sneaking on me. It wants me to tell its stories. Maybe it wants me to make a film out of it. Maybe.

Last night I dreamt the day I was sent to the Tahfiz, a sekolah pondok to some.

Hot and humid wind whizzed through the crevices of the taxi's window and into the sleeves of my new white robe. I smelled of factory-fresh cotton. I looked at my mother and looked back outside. She was not looking at me. She was looking outside too.

I clutched a small Quran tightly in my hands. If I could, I would compress the Quran into a ball of marble and leave it in the taxi. There is a bucket beside me with toiletries my mother bought from Giant. There were all green and labeled MADBA, my initials. This is my new name now, MADBA.

I was surprisingly calm. I was empty. I was emptied. The taxi driver hit a bumper violently and made the windscreen tilt open. The surge of wind blew my fringe and tickled my eyes. The wind was warm and sickly. I quickly closed the windscreen shut. If I had known that that was the last time I'll be able to feel the sensation of sharp threads of hair stinging my face to the rhythm of the wind, I would have left the windscreen open and basks in its playful twinge. But I didn't.

I looked outside. It was raining. It stopped raining. It started drizzling. "Make up your mind!" I looked at my mother again. She was talking to the taxi driver. I looked outside. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Cars and buildings. Motorcycles and shops. Roads and more roads. A left corner. A small road. A big toad. "Jom Afiq, dah sampai." Something fell in my stomach. It was heavy. It made me breathe harder. I took a deep breathe and lifted that thing to oblivion. I sensed a smile. I looked outside and there was an Ustaz looking down on us from the balcony of the Tahfiz building. I didn't smile back and busied myself with my bags and bucket and blanket.

Some older kids in white robes and white turbans rushed out from the white house and carried my bags without any hesitation. They knew I was coming. Everything was planned. My mother proceeded to the Tahfiz's office. I followed her. There is a distant rumbling from outside and as we neared the office, the reverberation revealed itself as a collection of incoherent readings of the Quran by dozens of children.

I waited at the office while the Ustaz talked to my mother.


cj'alhafiz said...

I'm not agree with parents who decided everything for us. True that the brought us to this world and raised us. But our future is not in their hands.

We can't change the past. But, ourselves today is a result of what happened in the past. Be brave and step forward my friend.

DanieL AdiE said...

i do agree with cj'alhafiz's thought!
parents seem to know whatz da best for their children but they actually not..children nowadays are far different from children in past..
old methods of educating children are not appropriate in todays' situation..

~ DanieL AdiE ~

Anonymous said...

dearest son,my sending u to tahfiz bcoz im still learning abt islam at the time n its my responsibility to furnish this as ur dad was not available. u wanted to quit at 8 juzuk n i adhered to it n i enrolled u to private school n u excell. u wanted to be an architect so much n i helped u pursuing it at UIA n its ur chosen college.. however u have other passion now n i just watch frm a far... be bless my son... as i ll be here always for u to blame on... i ll parish frm this world oneday n i never regret frm sending u to tahfiz for at least at my death if im not that filthy for u to touch, my wishes is for all my son to bath n kapan me for my last journey on earth..take care my son


Anonymous said...

Somehow I'm agreed with your Umi. It's her responsibility to do so and she did follow your decision to quit. I wish my parents sent me there during my childhood :)

Afiq Deen said...

She had to because I really wanted to quit. I was beaten almost everyday. I was molested by my seniors. I didnt even do my UPSR. It was a traumatising experience. Now I am doing my best to disassociate Islam with the things I experienced.

I hated it there and I still hate every neuron of memory that contains my 2 years in that shithole.

You still want to study there? Be my guest. No one is stopping you.


Parental guilt trip. Typically Malay.

Muahaha said...

Haha... the funny thing is malay women who enjoyed free lifestyles or free sex equate with sending their sons to arab schools as the best.

It is as if to atone for the guilt of their sexual enjoymnent. Now that they have enjoyed having sex I better send my sons/daughters to Arab school so they wont enjoy sex as I did. This is what goes through a typical malay "slut".

The only reason why malay women sent their children to ARAB school is so they wont enjoy sex because they fear god.

As anyone will tell you homo sexual ustaz are a dime a dozen in these arab/agama school as there are homo catholic priest preying on innocent beautiful boys who looked up to them.

Oh the feelings of happiness in the ustaz as those handsome young boys looked into their eyes waiting to be fondled!

Preaching against mixing with women as JAIS wants just fit into their homo sexual bents.

Your reports on molestation is serious and the education ministry should conduct surveys on homosexualities in Arab schools. Underneath those white jubah they may not be wearing anything!